Fucking Disasters

“I know someone who would fuck you right now,” says Ben.

/ Daisy Danger / 4 Comments

I’ve spent the afternoon lamenting about my lack of fucking lately. Ben’s my roommate, even though we fuck now and then, he doesn’t count.

“Who?” I sit up, interested. I snap off the television and give him my full attention.

“Jones,” he answers with a smirk.

“Get the fuck out of here!” I shriek, throwing a pillow at him.

Jake Jones is the drummer for my friend’s band. Everyone else in the band goes for the “metal” look: skimpy goatees and long greasy hair. Jones possesses soft black curls and brilliant green eyes, baby-faced and adorable. He’s the one the groupies anxiously hang around the stage for, squealing when he takes off his sweaty t-shirt halfway through the set. He’s never treated me as anything more than one of the guys. Honestly, he’s so far out of my league looks-wise that I’ve never even fantasized about fucking him before. Continue reading →

It feels serendipitous when Tony introduces me to Dean.

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“He’s got a job and a car,” Tony whispers in my ear as he makes introductions.

I just turned twenty-five and I’m in a panic. Everyone else my age is getting married, people are talking behind my back. They already think I’m odd and snobby because I won’t go work in a factory.

Dean’s good looking in that beefy sort of way, dirty blonde brush cut, big blue eyes. He tells me how he had a football scholarship, about the blown out knee that killed the deal and the dream. We find that we know nearly all the same people. He’s not terribly bright, but he’s polite and attentive. He’ll do. I let him move in a few weeks later.

The sex is good, he can keep up with me. We spill our fantasies and skirt around the edges of secrets. Dean confesses he’s always wanted to see what it felt like to be fucked in the ass. I tell him I’d be happy to oblige. He says he thinks he might be bisexual. I’m cool with that.

We go to a shady sex toy store the next town over, but when we get there I get shy and refuse to go in. I wait alone in the car, shrinking down in the car seat, hoping no one spots me.  Dean comes out, hands me a paper sack. He bought a dildo for himself and a bondage magazine for me. I glance at the cover. Twelve dollars! A small fortune, but I’ll hang onto it for years, the only proof to me that someone else out there likes this stuff, not just me.  Continue reading →

“I miss you,” Damon whispers into the phone.

/ Daisy Danger / 4 Comments

I’m broken. He left me the day we got our marriage license. For the past three months, I’ve done nearly nothing other than sit in a rocking chair and stare at the phone, waiting. Waiting for this.

He went back to his ex-girlfriend, now they’ve split up. He wants sympathy from me, and I give it to him. Damon tells me all the ways Julie was such a fucking cunt, how he was wrong to leave me. How she left him for someone else, stupid bitch. I tell him I forgive him for everything. For the split lip, for leaving me, all of it. I love him, I tell him over and over, hoping to erase his pain.

“Come home,” he says finally. So I do. Continue reading →

The emptiness swells.

/ Daisy Danger / 1 Comment

It fills the room, threatens to break windows and smash furniture. I’ve masturbated the entire day, it’s not enough.

I make phone calls.

“Fuck me,” I plead.

“Can’t,” a voice whispers back, “The girlfriend is here.”

“Can’t,” another voice answers, “Have to go to work.”

The world feels like a blank space between my hands, like I should be holding something in them, but there’s nothing to grasp. I reach for something that isn’t there. My mind races along, thoughts shoot out in a hundred directions, all of them leading nowhere. Continue reading →

“Finally!” I think as JD rips my shirt to shreds.

/ Daisy Danger / 1 Comment

I try not to be annoyed, it’s one of my favorites. I can see by the bulge in his grey sweatpants that he’s hard and excited, so I bite my tongue and just roll with it.

Tearing off more strips from my shirt, JD binds my hands to the bedposts. He uses the last strip of shirt to gag me, then stands back to examine his handiwork. “I’ve got a surprise for you,” he says gleefully.  “Another one?” I think. I’m plenty surprised now and getting wetter by the moment. JD goes into the bathroom, I can hear him rummage around, opening drawers and cabinets. I test my bindings, he’s got me tied tight. The gag tastes like fabric softener, not a very April Fresh flavor at all.

I wonder what triggered this. JD is vanilla with a capital V. This marriage isn’t really working anymore. Everything was fine as long as he had two jobs and was never home. Ever since he lost one, we’ve discovered we’re nowhere near as compatible as we liked to pretend. The sex, however, has always been lackluster. The closest he’s ever come to kinky was producing a half-used bottle of cherry flavored body oil, left over from a tryst with an ex-girlfriend. I’ve tried to talk him into tying me up, roughing me up a little, but all I’m met with is nervous laughter and another round of the missionary position. Over the years I’ve sent him dirty emails, dropped hints, bought toys, all to no avail.  I’m eager to see what he finally has in store.  Continue reading →

I’m done with talk. I want action.

/ Daisy Danger / 5 Comments

“Oh girl, you sound so hot, I want u sooo bad,” big_dixxx_69 types.
“Why don’t we meet??” I type, sending him directions.
“OK!!!! See you soon…” he replies. The chat window closes with a chirp.

We’ve been sending increasingly dirty messages back and forth for a couple days. I’m not even sure what his real name is. All I know is that he says he likes to fuck, lives by Detroit, and that we have a mutual love of the movie “True Romance.” Close enough.

I call my friend to let her know I’m meeting some strange guy from the internet in case my body shows up in a ditch later. “Again?” she sighs. “I’ll be fine,” I tell her.  She admonishes me with a few unheard words of caution, then hangs up.

The restaurant I’ve chosen out by the freeway is easy enough to find and it has a vast dark parking lot used by commuters. I’m early, of course. I’m early for everything. I think about going in for a drink, but then decide I don’t want to get up to pee every five minutes. I keep flipping down the mirror and check my lipstick, my hair and my teeth, even though I look fine. Eagerly, I search the faces of drivers pulling in, but most of them are elderly couples coming in for the Friday All-U-Can-Eat fish special. Continue reading →

I need cash and I need it fast.

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I see the skeleton of a Ferris Wheel looming in the distance, so I get an idea. A dingy little camper serves as the carnival employment office. A lady with the word LOVE tattooed across her knuckles in jerky blue ink hands me an index card. She tells me to write down my name, it doesn’t have to be my real one, and a phone number. “Check back Thursday,” she hacks through a cloud of cigarette smoke.

On Thursday, I’m assigned to work for Big Gary. “You’ll know ’em when you see ’em, honey,” wheezes the employment lady, pointing down the midway. I find Big Gary, an enormous black-haired man wearing a bright white polo shirt. He hands me an ID tag and my own white polo shirt emblazoned with the carnival’s logo. Big Gary shows me how to run the game. The premise is simple, take the fishing pole with a ring instead of a hook dangling from the end, snag the bottle that’s laying on it’s side and tip it up, win a cheap stuffed animal.

He waddles around the perimeter of the game, tipping each one up in quick succession. He hands me the pole, but I can’t do it. He laughs, explains how the game is rigged, then tells me to be back at 10 am the next day for opening. He’ll pay me in cash at the end of the two week run of the show. Continue reading →

“No, no, no,” Edward rages, “that’s still not it.”

/ Daisy Danger / 4 Comments

He yanks back the covers and storms off. Edward expects me to do one hundred kegels a day. He says my cunt is a cavern, he can’t feel anything. “Fuck it, I’m going to a meeting,” he yells from across the house. I hear the front door slam, then the car door. The dog next door barks in protest of the outburst.

Our sex life is lubricated by tears and venom. I can’t do anything right. He’s made it his personal mission to become Henry to my Eliza. Every step is a battle. Edward is ten years older than me, so I just assume he’s right about everything.  I’m not supposed to read novels, smoke, watch tv, drink, or eat processed foods. He considers my past sex life to be nothing short of shameful and horrific.

“I like the exact moment when the dick enters the pussy,” he tells me, showing me dozens of porn clips of smiling blonde people in the the missionary position.  I tell him I like to have my ass licked. “Jesus Christ!” he exclaims, jumping out of the bed, “you just don’t say that to someone. Fuck!”  When I call him to tell him I just masturbated at work, he’s appalled. None of my usual tricks works with him, I don’t know how to please him. I wanted my previous lover to hold a loaded gun to my head while we fucked,but I don’t know what to do with Edward. One day I sashay out of the bedroom wearing nothing but knee high black leather boots. He glances up from his book and snorts “God, you are so predictable,” then goes back to reading.  Continue reading →

We’re never in love with each other at the same time.

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One of us is always in the middle of a bad choice.

Brendan is soft-spoken, sweet, shy. He only looks imposing, six and a half feet tall, heavy metal long hair, an on-and-off again drug habit. We’ve known each other so long that neither of us remembers quite how we met, but we’ve never managed more than a few clandestine kisses in all these years.

It’s like trying to fit the pieces from two different puzzles together. I’m engaged, alone, losing my shit, pulling it together. I need space, air, time.  He stops drinking, starts meth, gets a job, fired, in jail, here and gone again. He moves to Colorado in the middle of the night. It’s never the right time.

After another long absence, Brendan materializes one day. I’m sitting at my friend’s kitchen table, and there he is, filling the doorway. He’s put back on all the pre-meth weight, acquired more tattoos, a goatee. We hug, he blushes, our hands tangling under the table as everyone catches up. We’re both single. He invites me to his new place, within walking distance of a yet another new factory job. Continue reading →

I call Dave at work and tell him I have a flat tire.

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He’s the only one I can think of that might be able to leave work to come help me. I occasionally fuck his boss, so it shouldn’t be a problem for him to leave. I tell him I’m stuck. I need help with the flat, but I’m broke. I don’t even own a jack. I’m stranded in the next town over after a one night stand and I need to get to work. I know what it’ll cost, but I’m hoping he won’t ask.

“You know what I want,” he breathes into the phone. He’s been trying to fuck me for months, but I keep dodging him. Dave has a bit of a reputation for his fucking abilities, he’s got girls lined up to sleep with him, but I’m not attracted to him. It drives him crazy and he won’t stop hounding me.

“Fine,” I huff, considering my limited options.  “Just get over here.”

I sit on the curb and chain smoke cigarettes for the next half hour. Dave pulls up, dressed in a suit and tie. I watch him neatly fold his jacket and place it in his van. He leers at me and I make a face. I ask him if his boss gave him any shit about leaving, Dave says I owe his boss one too. “Tell him it won’t be today, ” I sigh, “I gotta get to work.” Continue reading →